


Perfect Two

by InsiderKiwi



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, M/M, and i love that song anyway so ye, rating may go up later who knows man, this title happened bc my beta said to name it after a naruhina amv true story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:37:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1359370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsiderKiwi/pseuds/InsiderKiwi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some really short domestic Jearmin ficlets. Timeline is non-linear and most chapters are gonna be standalone (unless otherwise stated).</p>
<p>Most stories will only feature Jean and Armin, but I'll put in a notice for mentions of other pairings before each chapter. Rating may go up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jean Comes Home from Work

The slam of the front door alerts Armin to Jean’s return. He sets down the salad bowl and pulls his weary husband in for an embrace and a chaste kiss.

“How was work?” he asks as Jean leans on the counter. Armin rests his head on Jean’s warm chest and wraps his arms around his waist.

“Relentless,” he says, burying his face into the crook of Armin’s neck. The office had been in a busy period for the past week and a half, and Jean was responsible for his entire department. It’s the fourth night in a row he’d had to stay after to power through mountains of paperwork. Jean lets out a weary sigh.

“Get changed. Dinner will be ready in a minute,” Armin pushes away from Jean and returns his attention to the bowl on the counter.

“Salad again?” Jean whines, wrinkling his nose.

“Yes and no complaining. We’re not twenty anymore, so we can’t eat like we are,” Armin says as he pokes a finger into Jean’s belly.

“Yeah, yeah, saving my life one vegetable at a time. You’re my hero, babe,” Jean plants a kiss on Armin’s forehead and leaves the kitchen to change out of his work clothes. He’d always hated ties and button downs, but somehow his closet had become full of them since realizing being in a shitty punk band wasn’t exactly profitable.

Armin shouts for dinner, and Jean shuffles to the dining room in sweats. As usual, he has no complaints about the food once it’s in his mouth. He declares that anything Armin cooks tastes delicious despite Armin knowing Jean has always been the better cook. He can only make simple salads and dishes, and that was thanks to months of cooking classes and disastrous practice meals. Domestic chores came second-nature to Jean, who had grown up with 5 little sisters and a single mother. For only-child Armin, even doing dishes was a messy, arduous task.

They clean up side-by-side, Jean washing and Armin drying. Jean nudges Armin’s shoulder and, as he looks up quizzically, flicks water into his face. Armin blinks a few times in surprise, but grins and soon they both look like they’ve just finished taking a bath with their clothes on.

After their laughter subsides, Armin leans into Jean’s shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent.

“How much longer until work dies down?”

“Until the end of the week, I think.” Armin sighs. Jean wraps an arm around him and pulls their wet bodies together. He presses a kiss into Armin’s hair. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”


	2. Under an Umbrella

As the October rain beats against the windows, Jean taps his foot on the linoleum floor. He’d be late to class if the damn frycook took any longer. When the pimpled cashier finally calls out for his order, he swipes it from the counter and heads for the door. As he stops to struggle with his umbrella, he hears a hesitant voice.

“W-wait! U-um,” a smaller blond man stands there fidgeting. Jean assumes he was talking to him. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing, he thinks. His nose is really fucking cute.

“You need something?”

“Uh. I think our orders got mixed up.” Jean arches an eyebrow. He opens the bag and sees that a chicken sandwich and fruit cup had replaced his usual double-bacon cheeseburger and fries. He shakes his head and laughs.

“They never fucking get it right here, do they?” He grins and offers the bag to the other man.

“Never. I’m Armin, by the way,” he gives a ghost of a smile and exchanges the to-go bags. Jean goes a little pink at the way the man’s smile makes his heart jump.

“Jean. I’m Jean.”

They head out into the downpour together. Armin pulls up the hood of his raincoat and Jean finally gets his umbrella to cooperate. The rain beats down, and Jean feels guilty about the other man’s lack of an umbrella when he discovers they’re headed the same way.

“Y-Do you wanna share?”

“You mean the umbrella?” Jean’s face heats. He nods and shifts it to the side to make more room.

“Sure,” Armin shrugs and pulls closer to Jean’s left side. Jean tries to hold the umbrella over the both of them, but his right side ends up getting soaked trying to keep the other boy dry.

“W-where are you headed?” Jean asks, in an attempt to make conversation despite the waver in his voice.

“Tucker Hall. It’s just down the street a little ways on campus. I’m a Junior at the university.”

“Me too! I’m a Junior there too!” Jean exclaims, tightening his grip on the umbrella. He leans in a bit closer to the blond.

They talk the whole way to campus. Jean finds out that Armin’s a transfer student, creative writing major, and that he wants to be an author. Armin finds out Jean has no fucking idea what he wants to do with his business major, but he’s not worried.

They part reluctantly, but not before Armin can scribble his number on a paper napkin.


	3. Garden of Words

Armin takes off his reading glasses and rubs his forehead. He’d been working on this one tricky part of his novel for two days now. The sound of Jean’s voice carries to the open window of his office on the second floor from the garden below. He smiles to himself.

Armin peers out the window. Jean is bent over a flowerbed, vigorously pulling weeds up by the roots while singing some top 40 love song. Tenderness squeezes Armin’s heart. Jean always said talking to the plants makes them grow better. Armin’s not sure he believes that, but Jean insists that since he grew up on a farm, he knows better. Below, Jean switches to a monologue about his day.

Armin catches snippets of his one-sided conversation.

“—played Frisbee with Marco—“

“—couldn’t find kale anywhere—“

“—sunburned the tips of his ears—“

“Jean! Don’t work yourself too hard!” Armin shouts out the window. Jean whips his head around in confusion before looking up at the blond leaning halfway out the window.

Jean grins and waves. He turns back to the flowers.

“That’s my husband. The one I was telling you about? Just the other day he—“ Armin slams the window shut, his face red as wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya i know this has nothing to do with the movie Garden of Words but it's still pretty cute i think


	4. Something to Hold Onto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean gets sunburned so easily it's tragic. Armin's hair is getting longer.

“It’s fiiiine,” Jean whines as Armin spreads another dollop of sunscreen onto his back. It’s the first truly hot Saturday of summer, and Marco’s invited them over for Frisbee and barbeque.

“No, it’s not,” Armin grunts, rubbing the lotion in with all the gentleness of his high school gym teacher. “The last time you spent all day on the beach you couldn’t move for the rest of the weekend.”

Jean groans, “Fine, then let me do you next.”

“Alright, you big baby. There, all done,” Armin says, slapping a hand onto Jean’s back. Jean spins around, and Armin takes off his t-shirt and turns so that his back is facing Jean.

The sunscreen is cool enough to make Armin shiver at the contact. Jean is more massaging than rubbing the sunscreen into Armin’s skin, and he has to admit it feels good. He leans into the touch and Jean moves his hands to massage his shoulders, avoiding the overgrown blond locks.

“It’s so hot out. I’m thinking about cutting my hair,” Armin says after a moment. Jean hums in response, pushing the hair at the nape of his neck out of the way to plant a soft kiss.

“If you got it cut it’d be easier to do this,” Jean mumbles as he works his way to the sensitive spot behind Armin’s ear. “But I like your hair the way it is now. I’d like it any way you cut it, actually.”

“You’re such a sap,” Armin teases. He tilts his head so Jean has a better angle.

“Scratch that. I’d be pretty upset if you shaved it like Connie.”

There’s a pause before they both burst out laughing at the mental image of Armin with a buzz cut.

Armin stands and stretches. He casts a cheeky smile down at Jean.

“Don’t worry, I know you like having something to hold onto."

He laughs all the way down the private steps to the beach at how Jean’s face still turns beet red the way it did on their first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if the story wasn't clear, marco and his family live a few doors down on the same stretch of beach. they all have private beach access via stairs from their backyards, and they live in one of those less popular mid-atlantic beach towns with lots of local seafood places and fewer condos. that probably makes more sense if you live in the mid-atlantic but what can u do? :\
> 
> this makes no sense i swear im working on the chapter where they buy the house and it'll make more sense then orz


	5. Sweet Tooth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jean's birthday chapter. happy birthday u sweet loser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh this takes place a little ways in the past. armin's working at a publishing house and jean's going to business school and they're living in an apartment together. armin hasn't had those cooking lessons yet.

Armin chews on his bottom lip and stares at the five cookbooks laid out before him. It’s Jean’s birthday, and while his boyfriend of two years may insist he doesn’t want anything more than a night in, he’s determined to make it special. It’s his first birthday since they’ve been living together, after all. Armin’s just a low-level grunt at a small-time publishing company, but even he can bake a cake. Or so he supposes. He’s never done it before, but he’s bought the ingredients and consulted as many cookbooks as he could lay his hands on. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. No sense in wasting time.

Armin, ever tactical, has already memorized the recipes front to back. His plan of attack: use the best parts from every recipe to bake the ultimate cake. This is why, after pouring the flour, he uses the two cups of sugar from one recipe—since Jean has a sweet tooth—and the teaspoon of salt called for in another—sweet and salty would go good together—and the three eggs from another recipe—because why the hell not. Ingredient after ingredient gets added to the batter, and finally it’s ready to bake.

Armin shuts the oven door and wipes the sweat from his brow. He thumbs through the cookbooks until the timer goes off.

Black smoke billows out of the oven when Armin opens the door. He bats it away and coughs into his sleeve. Plunging his oven mitts into the mess, he grabs the pan and sets it on the stovetop.

The “cake” is nothing more than black charcoal at the bottom of the pan. Which is weird, because it’s supposed to be a yellow cake. After several minutes of “gentle persuasion” (which involves slamming his fist into the bottom of the pan repeatedly) the cake falls out onto a plate. Armin wrinkles his nose. The whole apartment smells like smoke and oh god Jean’s going to be back from class any second maybe he has time to open some windows before—Armin hears the key in the front door and throat constricts. He throws a towel over the disaster and opens a window in an attempt to hide the evidence of his failure.

“Armin, you okay?” Jean yells from the entryway as he hangs his coat, “Jesus, it smells like something’s burning. Babe, answer me!”

“I’m fine! Everything’s fine! Shit!” Armin curses as his hand brushes the still-hot cakepan to move it to the sink. He feels his eyes begin to burn and he curses again as a hot tear rolls down his cheek.

Jean rushes into the kitchen at the sound of sniffling. He wraps Armin his arms. “Armin? What’s wrong, babe? Oh, god, don’t cry.”

Armin grips his shirt and wails harder. Jean frantically smooths his hair. He notices the dark brick half covered by a wash rag on the counter.

“Did you bake that for me?”

Armin sniffs and nods sadly. “It was supposed to be a cake.”

“Really? You wanted to bake a cake for me?” Jean’s lips pull into that goofy grin Armin fell in love with and it feels like a punch in the gut. He always does this. Every time Armin messes up Jean is there with that goofy smile and more patience than he deserves.

Jean lets go of Armin and moves toward the cake. Armin begins to protest, but Jean ignores him and breaks off a piece of the cake. It’s harder than he thought it’d be, but he doesn’t tell Armin that. The blond grabs his arm to stop him from lifting the cake to his mouth, but Jean is too fast and soon he’s biting into the monstrosity.

Armin can hear the chewing from where he’s standing and winces, bracing himself for Jean to gag and spit it out. He doesn’t and his smile gets even wider despite the pained tears pricking at his eyes.

“It’s delicious, babe.” Jean’s smile falters at Armin’s gaping mouth.

“Jean, your tooth is broken,” Armin whispers, and sure enough, Jean’s top front incisor is half gone. His face pales, and before he can start panicking Armin is on the phone with the dentist.

“They said they can see you Monday about getting it fixed,” Armin sighs as he stabs his fork into the takeout box. Jean had ordered takeout anyway, and they were currently curled up on the couch watching the episode of Friends he'd taped last week.

“Look, Armin, it’s not your fault. I’m not mad,” Jean says with a newly acquired lisp. Armin doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“That’s the problem!” he groans, “You’re always smiling at me even when I mess up. Even though it’s your birthday.”

“I can’t help wanting to smile when I’m with you,” Jean admits. Armin throws his head back and groans.

“See? Right there! You’re always saying embarrassing romantic things and I’m just… me. Can’t even bake a fucking cake,” Armin grumbles and turns his head away. His cheeks are burning at the sudden admission, but none of it’s a lie. He feels Jean lean forward and take his chin in his hand. Jean turns Armin’s face to look at him.

“I love you when you’re you. No ‘just’ about it,” he says seriously, planting a kiss on Armin’s nose. The blond’s cheeks heat up.

“I still wanna get you something,” he mumbles. Jean smiles and kisses him on the lips.

“How about a promise? To make it up to me next year,” Jean kisses Armin’s forehead, “and the year after,” he kisses his cheek, “and all the years after those.”

Armin sighs and closes his eyes, resting his forehead against Jean’s. “I promise.”

Jean smiles that smile that makes Armin weak. “I love you, Arm.”

“I love you more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is for Jean's birthday and it's early because I was really anxious to get a chapter out since it's been a while since i updated. school's been really crazy and i had literally no time to write. i hope this is good orz


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